Is the life of a man mapped so that he unfailingly fails?
Or the dream of perfection forever lost in the waking moments?
And what are consequences if not the casualties of actions
I hid my misdeeds beneath layers of lies and deceit
It shunned the revealing light caused darkness to grow implicit
With time I learned how to do tricks and illusions
sufficient to grow my sleeves longer whenever I draw a cut
while I mask the dread and bereavement with my smiles
If my fate had been read and so revealed the future that is now
Why… I would have recoiled in righteous horror
And so I fashioned a barrow for my guilt
of blood, bone, and tissue this prison I built
Without mercy, I drowned my conscience in filthy water
And turned deaf ears to the voices that cried for retribution
This guilt is the cross that I’m burdened with for all of eternity
A torment that weighs me down and sinks my soul in despair